


Caution! Side effects include . . .

by wolfsan11



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Basically, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Galra Keith, Humour, Keith is high, M/M, Mild Angst, Protective!Shiro, Quintessence, Team as Family, but also exasperated Shiro, hints of protective!everyone, hurt!keith, post s2ep10 Best Laid Plans, pseudo science aka sci-fi explanations, vulnerable Keith, weird Altean medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsan11/pseuds/wolfsan11
Summary: When Keith is injured just days before the final battle against Zarkon, he refuses to enter the healing pods out of the worst combination of stubbornness and anxiety. Coran offers him an alternative in Altean remedies, but no one is quite prepared for the side-effects.They learn two very important lessons:1) Alteans are the wrong people to ask when it comes to medical advice for humans, let alone for a human-Galra hybrid.2) A drugged up Keith is a sleepy, cuddly mess of a Keith. And it's cute, for the most part, until he accidentally ends up revealing a little too much about himself.





	Caution! Side effects include . . .

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the Aphelion Zine, I had a fun time writing this and I hope you like it'll! Note that it's been edited since and will likely differ from the zine piece.
> 
> Someday I'll write a character-besides-Keith getting hurt fic. Someday.

In all the years that he’s known Keith, it's inevitable that Shiro's learned much about him; some being the very things that had brought them close in the first place and made them what they are now. But there’s a Keith fact that he learns quite early on that remains just as prominent and irrefutable as Shiro’s love for him.

Keith Kogane is completely capable of taking care of himself.

To others, Keith is a problem: an unsightly blotch on a perfect record, meant to be wiped away and forgotten. But Shiro knows him as so much more.

He knows Keith is strong, in ways that no one should ever have to be, but are often forced into by a matter of circumstance. He knows him as fire, deadly and unstoppable, or as a hurricane, tearing through every obstacle the universe has thrown at him until he emerges from the debris, tempered and forged into the best version of himself.

And yet, in spite of all that, the knot of worry that’s burrowed its way into Shiro’s stomach refuses to abate.

Because he also knows the Keith who is stubborn and passionate. Who feels too much, loves as fiercely as he fights, and hurts all the more for it.

The med-bay is silent in the wake of its two occupants. Shiro rocks on his heels, eyes on the doorway as he crosses and uncrosses his arms. Next to him, Coran waits with immeasurable patience, ignoring his uneasy fidgeting. Shiro’s grateful that at least one of them is calm. He tries not to let the anxiety in his chest bubble up and over into visibility, but it’s not easy. Not when it’s about Keith.

Keith and his ever growing tally of free-falls through the void of space.

 _Idiot_ , Shiro thinks, caught somewhere between fondness and irritation.

Sure, it’d been necessary at the time. They’d come out freshly bruised and exhausted from their missions only to jump straight into a battle with a Robeast; “ol’ Laser Eyes”, as Lance called it. And it had been rough, struggling to gather the Lions while holding off the monster at the same time. And Keith, ever the insane pragmatist, had figured the easiest way to get to Red meant _get to Red, save the consequences for later_.

Shiro scrubs his fingers through his hair, recalling the sight of a speck of red and white launching itself out of the Yellow Lion. At the time, he’d almost stopped breathing at the realisation of what Keith had done.

The Robeast had been stronger compared to their last encounter, had been near impossible to defend against even with four Lions in the field. The situation had been harrowing enough, and then a stray laser had ricocheted off of one of the Lions’ armour and grazed Keith.

His heart clenches now at the memory of the cry that had rung through the comms, but he shakes it off, pulling himself to the present. Keith was fine, if the way the Red Lion had swooped in to grab him was any indication. Predictably, as soon as he’d rejoined the fray, the right arm of Voltron had dramatically changed the results of the battle.

Even so, Shiro's fears can’t be appeased until he sees Keith for himself.

There’s an echo of voices from down the hall and he straightens up as Keith and Hunk walk in through the med-bay’s entrance. Or, at least, _Hunk_ walks in, carrying a pouting Keith in his arms.

“I’m fine,” Keith grumbles before Shiro can say a word.

Hunk just sighs and shrugs at them in exasperation, Keith clutching at him when he’s nearly dislodged from his hold.

“He’s been saying that over and over, but he almost tripped while climbing out of Red.”

“I did _not_ trip! I just . . . caught my foot on an edge and . . .”

“Tripped?” Shiro finishes, raising an eyebrow.

Keith’s expression sours, which is answer enough. Hunk lowers him onto the bed they’ve laid out and Shiro absently thanks him as he steps forward, something that immediately attracts Keith’s disdain.

“Should have known he put you up to this,” he grumbles at Hunk, and Hunk laughs as he moves aside, letting Shiro take his place. Coran is already busy fiddling with the pod’s settings, so Shiro uses the short lull to assess Keith’s wounds.

He’s beat up, there’s no denying it. Keith’s armour looks worse for wear: lined with fine cracks and charred at the edges, it’s no longer its usual pristine white. There’s a bruise on Keith’s sooty cheek and probably more hidden beneath the confines of his ruined suit.

“Geez, Keith,” he murmurs, running a gentle thumb over the splotchy discolouration. Keith flinches a little, but the tense set of his shoulders disappears as he relaxes somewhat.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, averting his eyes.

Right on cue, Hunk pipes up from behind Shiro. “Pfft. Yeah, _right_. He leapt right into Weblum stomach acid, just thought I should—”

Keith emits a furious growl and Hunk backs off in a hurry, laughing nervously.

“—get going! I should . . . get going.”

Shiro has never seen the Yellow Paladin leave a room so fast. He wonders briefly if he should get Keith to partner with Hunk for his training, then decides to be kinder, for both their sakes.

“Do I wanna know?” he asks Keith. He gets an eye-roll in response.

“Definitely not.”

Shiro snorts and reaches up to run his fingers through Keith’s hair, smiling when the younger man leans into the touch. HIs locks are a dry and tangled mess, and Shiro has to wrinkle his nose at the lingering scent of burnt hair mixed with something else, something sharp and intoxicating. Probably whatever substance had fuelled the Robeast’s laser.

Keith slumps forward into his chest suddenly and Shiro scrambles to hold him, startled. The brief dredging panic fades when he finds Keith blinking tiredly back at him. Just exhaustion then; that was understandable, after the day they’d all had.

“There! All done!” Coran announces loudly, breaking the silence between them. Shiro's privately amused when Keith jolts back to awareness, pulling away and crossing his arms with a scowl.

“I’m not getting into the pod,” he states, absolutely daring them to tell him otherwise.

Coran stares at him in surprise. “Ah, come now, Number Four—”

"I don't need it, it's fine."

Shiro should have known it’d be a struggle.

“Coran,” Shiro says quickly, “It’s alright. Could you give us a moment?”

The older man pauses, twirling his moustache in contemplation before giving in with a reluctant nod. Shiro is relieved for the lack of resistance and waits until he’s out of earshot before turning back towards Keith.

“What’s wrong?”

Keith frowns, tapping his fingers against his arm guard. He shakes his head, mouth scrunching into a grimace.

“It’s . . . it’s nothing.”

It's the least convincing lie Shiro's ever heard, mostly because there isn't even any effort in it. Somewhere at the back of the room, Coran begins humming a rather pleasant, upbeat tune. Shiro appreciates the tiny bit of privacy it affords them, and he moves closer, pushing himself into the gap between Keith’s legs. He takes Keith’s hands, unwinding them from where they’re folded against his chest. A part of him still can't get over the idea that Keith lets him do this; that he lets him crowd into his space, lets him press their palms together and plant a kiss against his knuckles. The faintest flush is the only acknowledgement of the affection, so Shiro puts his other hand to Keith’s cheek, imploring him to look up.

Keith does so reluctantly, skin warm beneath Shiro’s hand.

“Hey,” Shiro says, gently. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Keith doesn’t even hesitate as he nods and Shiro’s heart flutters at that, rabbiting up into high-gear. He can’t help but lean in to press a quick kiss to Keith’s brow, to swipe his thumb over his cheek again, though he’s careful to avoid the bruise this time.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Please?”

Keith closes his eyes and huffs but Shiro waits patiently, knowing he’s just taking a moment to gather his thoughts. It takes a few seconds before Keith’s eyes flutter open and he starts speaking.

“I . . . I just don’t want to risk the time it’d take to heal while we’re right on the tail-end of executing the plan to take out Zarkon. Especially when we’re being tracked by the Galra like this.”

“Hey, now,” Shiro protests. “First things first, the plan isn’t set for another two quintants, but you know that’s not enough time for you to heal without the aid of the pods.”

Keith shakes his head, but Shiro is persistent.

“Keith, nothing’s more important than getting yourself better. And besides, what are you expecting to do while you’re injured?”

“I can still fight. I _would_ still fight.”

“You can’t—”

Keith reaches up suddenly and Shiro pauses, caught off-guard by the slide of calloused fingers on his forehead. Keith is focused intensely on him, fingers tracing over and pressing against the middle of his brow. Shiro stays silent, dumbfounded, until Keith begins to withdraw his hand.

“You get this furrow there when you’re worried, ” he explains sheepishly. Quick as a whip, Shiro captures his retreating hand in his own. Keith blinks at him, both his hands trapped in Shiro's now. It prompts Shiro to sigh, shaking his head in despair.

“I _am_ worried. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but,” Shiro gestures to Keith’s right side, “You’re bleeding.”

It’s Keith’s turn to startle and he tilts his head down to take a look, blanching at the sight of his arm. Between the gaps of his armour, the suit is suspiciously wet over the curve of his shoulder, fabric darker than it should be.

“Oh. I . . . I didn’t even realise,” Keith mumbles, wincing as he tries to move his arm. “Okay, ow.”

“The cut must have torn open in the battle. It was still tender when we set off on our missions, wasn’t it?”

He’d noticed it earlier, the way Keith’s discomfort had been telegraphed with every movement and the accompanying shift of each muscle. Despite the victory and the short interval spent in the cryo-pod, the Trials of Marmora had left their brutal mark with the new scars on Keith’s body.

Maybe Shiro should have said something then, but there had barely been any point in doing so. They had no allies to spare in Keith’s place, especially with how time-sensitive their missions were. And, to Allura especially, part-Galra Keith was still better than accepting the help of full-Galra soldiers like Antok or Kolivan, their title as rebels against Zarkon notwithstanding.

Keith had known it too but it still doesn’t stop him from pouting now, looking utterly displeased.

“I thought the cryo-pod fixed it up.”

“Well, maybe it helps us heal, but it’s not magic. Or, at least, I don’t think so? For all we know, it could be—”

“It’s scientific to a certain degree, yes,” says a voice right by his ear. Shiro jerks away, letting out an embarrassing yelp.

At some point during their discussion, Coran had come back and managed to sneak up on him.

Keith turns his head away to hide a smirk and Shiro mentally promises retribution. Coran seems entirely oblivious to their exchange though, arms primly tucked behind him in a manner befitting of the Royal Advisor.

“If I may. The cryo-replenishers make use of the quintessence you already hold and redirect your energy into healing, first and foremost,” Coran says, pinching his moustache between thumb and index finger. “I suppose you could say it temporarily freezes all other functions to bring forth the body’s natural healing process and focus it on reverting you back to full health and strength.

“Of course, it’s not a perfected science either, which is why it cannot prevent scarring or restore one’s limbs,” he continues, with a careful glance at Shiro; then, with a sharper one meant for Keith, “ _N_ _or_ can it bring you back from death.”

Keith doesn’t look away, gaze turned up to an unbearable intensity. Shiro shuffles his feet, discomfited. It’s odd. Coran is obviously older than them, possibly by more than they could imagine, considering he and Allura are _aliens_. But, all of a sudden, those countless wrinkles, those frown lines and the dimness in his demeanour have never seemed more pronounced.

“I suggest that you remain cautious and give us fewer reasons to use the pods,” Coran says, quietly. “I imagine we’d all be happier for it.”

Keith softens, like the intent of Coran's words are sinking in. He swallows, gaze flitting away to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Not to worry, Number Four, all is forgiven,” Coran waves his hand quickly and, just like that, he’s returned to his usual sprightly self. “Now, I do have other ways to get those wounds fixed up, so why don’t we take a look at them? There _are_ alternatives, y’know, if you’d rather not use the pods.”

Keith lights up at that and smiles in relief.

“That’d be pretty great. Thank you.”

Shiro smiles as well and fervently reminds himself to find a way to thank Coran when he gets the chance.

 

* * *

 

Shiro bares his teeth and fervently reminds himself to strangle Coran when he gets the chance.

Allura stares at them, unamused.

“Would anyone care to explain this to me?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at Keith.

Keith, still injured and newly swaddled in bandages, decidedly _not_ in the perfect condition he would have been in had he gone into the healing pod last night. Keith, who had stumbled into the rec room by Shiro’s side, veered straight towards a wall and patted it gently, calling it “good kitty”.

Keith, fast asleep and laid across Shiro’s chest and lap, having bypassed the unoccupied couches for the preferred comfort of his boyfriend’s body—much to Shiro's mortification, and everyone else’s glee.

They watch in silence as Keith mumbles something incomprehensible, twisting his torso around until he’s settled into a more comfortable position. Shiro waits for him to fall back asleep before he turns his attention to Allura.

“Pidge, Hunk and Coran are still trying to figure it out, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d . . . say he’s inebriated.”

Allura rolls her eyes, and Shiro wonders just who she learned that from. Whoever it was, they’d done a stellar job; full points for an impeccable form and the perfect expression of disdain.

“Yes, _thank you,_ Shiro,” she sighs. “I do believe I noticed that when I walked in and Keith was talking about glowing sorpids—”

“I think you mean scorpions—”

“—and his worries about fish not sleeping enough. And that was before he fell asleep on top of you, like—like some kind of celimite _._ Not to mention—”

Now that she’s started, Allura seems set on a long, soul-cleansing rant and Shiro gets the feeling she's been holding on to this for a while. He looks around desperately for some help. Pidge and Hunk are on the floor, lost in their own world of science and biology and headache-inducing theories, Pidge tapping feverishly through a database on the properties of quintessence. Shiro catches a few words of their discussion, but most of it sounds miles away from what he can process right then.

So sue him, it’s been a long day.

Lance, meanwhile, is on the seat across from them. He’s enjoying the spectacle a little too much, if the occasional snickers he lets loose are anything to go by. It’s a relief when Allura pauses for a breather, though she soon adopts a look that is equal parts curious and disapproving when she continues.

“Is this considered normal behaviour for earthli—”

“No!” Shiro denies quickly because, oh god, he’s struck by the sudden realization that they’re representing the human race here and that they’ve been doing a _terrible_ job so far. “No, this is pretty out of the ordinary, Allura, I promise.”

“Well, good! Because I’d like to know the reason Keith’s currently out of commission.”

“I . . . well. I suppose it started with the cryo-pods.”

Shiro’s forced to explain what had led them to this point and, although he skirts around the more . . . _concerning_ details of Keith’s motives, Allura understands enough to start kneading her forehead in exasperation. Shiro hides a smile at that and wonders if she might be a little more worried than she’d like to be: Galra Paladin or not, she seems bothered for Keith.

“Wow,” Lance mutters aloud, eyes drifting towards Coran. “Why would you think it was a good idea to get him all whacked out on drugs anyway?”

The man in question huffs with all the dignity he can muster, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms.

“Now how was I to know the boy would react unfavourably to fyilic medicines? They’re organic! The scans didn't reveal any compatibility issues and it was a tiny dose! Hardly even enough to knock out even a Wabaling!”

Allura pats him on the back hastily, trying to temper his outrage. “It’s alright, Coran. We’ll just have to wait till it wears off—and steer clear of battles until then.”

Pidge pops up from behind her laptop suddenly, eyes blazing.

“Actually, I don’t think it’s your fault, Coran.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks, surprised.

Pidge fumbles with her glasses, pushing them up firmly against the bridge of her nose.

“So, I grabbed a few scans of that Robeast from earlier—which, by the way, I can't believe we still haven't put together an archive on them, because _geez_ if they’re not getting tougher to beat each time, we should be studying them to set a counterplan in place—but anyway, if I’m reading this right, they’re entirely powered by quintessence, except . . . unnaturally so. There’s something off about it, it’s nothing like what the Lions have. And it’s like the laser was concentrated with that stuff; my theory is that Keith was doused in it.”

Everyone stares at her for a beat of silence, causing Pidge to roll her eyes. Shiro is now absolutely convinced that someone was teaching everyone on board the lesser appreciated qualities of proper eye-rolling; Lance, maybe? Or was it the other way around?

Pidge, meanwhile, crosses one leg over the other and deigns to elaborate her thought process.

“What’s happened, essentially, is that whatever weird Altean drug Coran gave him didn’t interact very well with the overload of quintessence in Keith’s system and . . .” She flutters her fingers at Keith and shrugs. “Voilà. He’s high as f—”

“Pidge.”

“—udge.”

Hunk picks up the thread of thought, holding his hands up as though to soothe them. Shiro does not feel very soothed.

“The point is: Keith’s fine. It’s like the equivalent of getting high on a combination of fumes and a sugar high, but turned up to _over nine thousand_.”

“ _Hunk.”_

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. But he’ll be fine in a few vargas. Uh, no, wait. Quintants? . . .  Ah, anyway, he’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

The atmosphere in the entire room seems to deflate at once, tension draining out at the reassurance.

“Right,” Lance concludes triumphantly. “So Coran got him all whacked out on drugs.”

Allura rolls her eyes one last time and walks out, apparently done with the whole mess. Coran follows her, muttering something about ‘primitive beings’ and ‘biological differences’. Shiro is just relieved that he won’t have to exact vengeance on the elderly Altean for inflicting anything serious on Keith.

Then, there’s a soft sound in his ear as Keith shifts, his head sliding onto Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro startles and finds hair tickling his face, hazy violet eyes staring at him from barely an inch away. Keith grants him a lazy grin.

“Hi,” he whispers, dragging out the word rather dreamily.

Shiro returns the smile with one of his own, brushing a hand over Keith’s forehead.

There’s a square pad of healing gauze covering a cut at his left brow, and another over his cheek. Keith’s shirtless, mostly because the pains of pulling him out of his armour had been a terrible enough experience, and that hadn't required him to have his arms above his head. The idea of helping him into a t-shirt had been immediately nixed. His favourite red jacket is draped over him, for all the good it does. It’s laid uneven over an unusually thick layer of dressings that keeps his right shoulder secure and, for the most part, immobile. The bandages _might_ have been on Shiro’s insistence . . . it helped that Keith had already fallen victim to his medicine by that point, unable to protest the extra care through the drowsiness.

“Hi yourself, sweetheart,” Shiro says, warmly. “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that in this past hour alone.”

Keith just blinks at him and Shiro wonders if he’s already forgotten again, or if he’s even consciously listening at all. He hadn’t been exaggerating about it being the fifth time.

Sure enough, Keith’s eyes stray distractedly to Shiro’s hair as he frowns, flapping his right hand to indicate his own face.

“I can’t feel my mouth,” he mumbles, struggling to articulate his problem around an unwieldy tongue. Shiro almost feels bad for finding it amusing, but he makes no effort to hide his grin.

“Shiro,” Keith slurs, and now he’s trying to sit up straight and failing miserably. “Can’t . . . It’s not here, I think. Help me find it . . . “

Lance gives up on maintaining a straight face and starts outright laughing, though it’s cut off with a squawk when Hunk reaches over to pinch him. Shiro would be grateful, except Hunk is also staring at them with the most dewy eyes, apparently overwhelmed by the cuteness.

Which . . . Okay, yeah. Keith _is_ that adorable when his walls are down. Still.

Shiro sighs, gripping Keith at the waist as the younger man starts to squirm around. It’s partly to keep him from aggravating his injuries, but mostly to keep him from toppling onto the floor and achieving the same result. Keith seems unduly distressed by his ‘missing mouth’ dilemma though, so Shiro takes pity and swoops in to kiss him gently, stilling his movements at last.

Keith doesn’t kiss back of course; he exhales, mouth falling open in surprise, and Shiro pulls back to tap playfully against Keith’s jaw.

“Looks like I found it, huh?” he teases.

Keith stares at him with wide eyes. Then he smiles slowly, a sweet and sappy curve of his lips.

“I like it when you kiss me,” he murmurs.

Shiro has a second to think _w_ _hat_ before it sinks in for all of them. Everyone starts talking over each other at once, Lance the most audible of them all.

“Oh my god,” he crows, sounding absolutely delighted. “Oh my _god!_ ”

Shiro covers his face with both hands, feeling an odd combination of pleased and embarrassed. Keith, of course, chooses that moment to lean back too far and rolls right off the couch with a _thump_.

“Keith!”

Hunk dives forward to lift Keith and Shiro scrambles to help, grabbing his waist and pulling him up. Keith comes up easily, head lolling back and he’s—he’s laughing. No, strike that, he’s _giggling._

“T-that was h-hilarious,” Keith manages to say around his laughter, and Shiro and Hunk exchange glances, heaving twin sighs of relief. Hunk helps settle him back onto the couch and Shiro sits down next to him to check his injuries, ignoring the heat rising to his neck, or the fact that his heart is still beating a tad too fast.

Keith is fine, luckily, and still laughing entirely too hard. Shiro almost wants to push him off the couch again, but resists with a roll of his eyes—the theme of the day—and kisses Keith on the crown of his head.

“You guys are so cute, it’s gross,” Pidge huffs, sinking back to the floor from where she’d lunged up in alarm at Keith’s fall. Clearly she was joining in on the ribbing, too, now that the scare was over.

Shiro points a warning finger at each of them.

“Not a word. Any of you. Whatever just happened stays confined to today and _only_ today, got it?”

“Uh huh.” Lance smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever you say, o’ fearless leader.”

“Fearless leader,” Keith repeats approvingly, slumping back against the couch. He squints at nothing in particular and mumbles, “I wan' Honey Nut Shhhirios”.

The others crack up, and Shiro sighs and prays for a convenient meteor strike to put him out of his misery. This is what he gets for trying to take care of his boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

Shiro will always be the first to admit that Keith is unbearably cute, no doubt there. But the thing is, Keith’s also a certified _nightmare._ It’s probably his own fault for underestimating just how much trouble Keith could get into, given full mobility while he was high, but . . . _still_.

Once he’d woken up, Keith had refused to sit still no matter how much the others had tried to keep him distracted. So far, Shiro had had to drag his wandering boyfriend away from the Red Lion’s hangar at least four times, slap the Luxite blade out of his hand twice, and come close to his first heart attack while manhandling Keith out of the activated incinerator room.

Shiro’s _tired_ and there’s still a few more hours before bedtime. He doubts that makes any difference to Keith, either way.

Now, Keith's weaving a slow and unsteady path through the corridor to the main control room, walking a few steps ahead of Shiro, having insisted that he could make it there on his own.

“Why are we on a conveyor belt?” Keith complains, veering a little too much to the left. He corrects himself before Shiro can intercept him, somehow keeping away from the walls. Shiro hopes it means the drugs are starting to wear off. He shakes his head and continues to follow Keith, eyes roving over the back of his head and the jacket that’s precariously close to slipping off his shoulders.

There’s something about seeing Keith like this that throws him off. It’s been such a long time since Shiro's seen him so . . . relaxed.

Vulnerable applies too.

Sure, Keith had never been all that open to most others, but Shiro had always been the exception to that.

Now though . . . after Kerberos and Shiro’s return and everything that’s happened since, he’s noticed just how much of Keith has retreated to how he used to be when they first met. The way he’s so serious about everything, and how it takes much longer for him to just let go and enjoy himself. The way he fights so hard and so long, and pushes that extra inch to achieve the impossible, again and again.

Most of all, Shiro’s noticed the way every touch from him is met with a look of soft disbelief; fragile uncertainty and a hope of the most helpless form, one that matches every shard of Shiro’s being. Thinking of it makes his heart clench, a pulse of overwhelming pressure filling his chest.

They’ve both lost so much time to Kerberos and they’ve both paid a different price to get to where they are. The only difference now is that some things are within his power to change; some things . . . he can make better.

Bolstered by those thoughts, Shiro reaches out to Keith, not entirely certain of what he wants to say but knowing he has to say _something_.

“Kei—”

That’s when the alarms start blaring, obnoxious and loud enough to startle them both and bring Keith to a swaying halt. Shiro laments the missed opportunity as he approaches him with a wry smile.

“Come on. Let me carry you to the control room.”

Keith turns to him and doesn’t say a word, so Shiro hooks an arm around his back and below his knees, lifting him easily. Keith loops his own arms around Shiro's neck, suddenly quiet and complacent, and Shiro wonders about that for a brief moment.

There’s no time to focus on it right now though; they’re needed.

 

* * *

 

By the time they get to the control room, the ship has already been hit twice, the entire Castle shaking from the impact.

Shiro rushes in with Keith and spots the princess at the helm with Coran, the image of their attackers pulled up on the screen in front of them. The menacing violet lights of two battlecruisers are visible through the feed, along with the red streaks from fleets of drones zipping closer to their location. One of the cruisers has just finished discharging their ion cannon, the remnant of its glow still fading while the other gears up for another strike.

Shiro curses, knowing what it means. He carefully deposits Keith in his chair before moving towards his own. Lance arrives as Shiro takes his seat, followed shortly by Hunk and Pidge, each of them scrambling into position at their stations.

Allura turns around, face grim as she addresses them.

“They’ve found us again, but there are too many drones for the Castle to handle along with the cruisers. Get to your Lions. Keith won’t be able to pilot the Red Lion, so you’ll have to hold them off until we clear enough distance to wormhole away to safety.”

Shiro nods, having reached the same conclusion himself when he’d seen the sheer proximity of the ships. Either they’ve become complacent or Zarkon’s able to pinpoint their location with greater accuracy now.

“I’m going too.”

Shiro freezes at those words. He whirls around to find Keith struggling to his feet, eyebrows tugged down into a harsh V as he frowns at his uncooperative body.

Shiro strides forward and grasps Keith just above the elbows, guiding him back down into his seat.

“Don't be ridiculous, Keith. You’re injured and completely out of it, there’s no way you can—”

Keith shrugs off his touch and stands again, this time with marginally more success as he makes it without falling over. He stares at Shiro in defiance, challenge sparking in his eyes.

“Red needs a pilot and _I_ am her pilo—”

Shiro feels panic eat at him but he forces it down. _Patience yields focus._ Or patience yields survival, in this case.

“Keith, listen to me. We have the four of us and that’s good enough to handle these guys, we just need to buy ourselves some ti—”

“No. I _have_ to go with you—”

“Would you just—”

Keith grabs the front of Shiro’s vest, a sudden tug that nearly sends him off-balance.

“—I have to go with you or you won't come back!”

Shiro's jaw clicks shut, and suddenly it’s all too quiet for anyone’s comfort. He’s distantly aware that the other Paladins are still there, lingering still in the wake of their disagreement.

Keith keeps talking though, matter-of-fact and less slurred than before, but like he has no awareness of what exactly he’s letting spill from his heart.

“Last time, you promised me you’d come back but you _didn’t_ and it took—so long. It was like losing my Dad all over again. I thought it was forever. I was _getting used_ to forever until suddenly you did come back and it was _everything_ to me, so . . . so you can’t just . . . I-I don't want you to leave! I can’t bear that again, losing any of you, I have t-to be there, to ma-make sure—”

Keith’s words dissolve into frustrated stutters and his fingers knead frantically into the fabric of Shiro’s vest as though it’s the only thing holding him up. His body trembles as he gasps for air and there’s an emotion twisting his face that Shiro understands all too well.

It stirs him into motion and he brings Keith into a tight hug, folding him in against his chest as he feels himself reel. He has to do something, say something, but there’s hardly any time. There never seems to be. But he has to—

Screw that.

“Keith. Keith, you have to listen to me," he says, urgently. "I get what you’re saying, but I’m coming back, I swear it! I’m _so_ sorry, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I need you to stay here. You can kick my ass later for leaving, but I _promise_ you, I'm coming back.” Shiro knows he’s blurting out whatever comes to mind, but he means every word of it. If he can just get Keith to see it, to believe in him—

Keith’s gaze lifts to dart over his face searchingly, not saying a word. It’s silent for a long moment; long enough that the ion cannon strikes them again, the Castle shields shuddering under the force. Shiro doesn’t even flinch though, and right then, Keith seems to find what he needs. The wild storm in his eyes calms, the harsh wheeze of his lungs slowly evening out as he takes a tiny step back and nods.

“. . . You have to come back. Soon. All of you.”

He releases Shiro’s vest but Shiro catches his hands before they can leave his grasp, just long enough to squeeze them tight, like he’s imprinting that promise into their palms. Keith smiles weakly at the gesture, and Shiro finally lets go and turns away. He strides towards his station,  not once looking back.

He doesn’t need to.

Black awakens under his touch and he’s roaring out of the Castle Ship and into the inky darkness of open space, streaks of yellow, blue and green following him at the edge of his vision. The drones swoop into formation, engaging them into immediate battle.

Lance’s voice comes through over the comms, small and hushed.

“Shiro . . .”

Shiro breathes out and tries to center himself. Tries not to think of the desperate hands that had held onto whatever they could, or the vulnerability that had been cracked right open in front of everyone.

“I know,” he murmurs quietly, hands clenching over the controls. Then, loud and clear, “Let's finish this and get home as soon as we can. He’s waiting for us.”

Their responses are immediate, mirroring his determination, threaded through with their own conviction.

“You got it!”

“Let’s do this!”

“I’m ready!”

The Galra don't stand a chance against four fierce beasts; not when they’ve understood their mission as protecting one of their own.

The battle is over almost as soon as it begins.

 

* * *

 

When they get back, they’ve barely broken a sweat. They’re greeted by Allura’s pride, Coran’s beaming praise and the bright lights of the Castle, shields still intact. And there, on Shiro’s chair, they find Keith asleep again, curled up into so tight a ball, he looks smaller than ever. His breathing flows slow and steady, undisturbed; peaceful.

 

* * *

 

Keith only wakes up the morning after, which Pidge and Coran together determine to be natural and no cause for worry. In that time, his wounds heal quickly with the help of the enhanced Altean bandages and he’s on his feet with no trouble—and back to his normal senses.

That’s how Shiro finds himself cornered in his own room with Keith looming over him, arms crossed, wearing a glare set to sear.

“Did something happen while I was on those drugs?”

Shiro blinks up at him from where he’s seated on the bed, slowly setting aside the tablet he’d been using before Keith had stormed in.

“What do you mean?” he asks, cautiously.

Keith waves his arms about wildly, as though he can’t possibly encompass whatever has him so wound up with mere words.

“Hunk keeps bursting into tears every time he looks at me and that’s basically every time we cross paths. Lance said my hair doesn’t actually suck and then slapped me on the back and ran off. Then I walked in on Pidge in the rec room and she set down everything to give me a hug—right before she punched me on the shoulder and called me a loser. Her punches _hurt_.”

Shiro stares at him as Keith continues to rant.

“Meanwhile Allura keeps smiling at me, all awkward and gentle and creepy, but that wasn’t even the weirdest part! Because Coran just walked right up, patted me on the head and called me a good kitty!”

Shiro can’t help himself. He rolls onto his back and starts laughing so hard he’s clutching at his ribs and wheezing. Keith’s glare intensifies before he huffs, shaking his head at him. There’s a reluctant smile there, small and bright and beautiful. Shiro reaches out and grabs his hands, pulling Keith down on top of himself.

Keith squeaks in protest, but settles down with only minor grumbling as he tucks his head under Shiro’s chin.

“So? Are you gonna tell me or do I have to beat it out of everyone?” he asks. Shiro hums contentedly and clasps a hand to Keith's, their fingers entwined. The other goes to his waist, securing Keith against him.

“Who knows?” He grins. “They're probably just high.”

Keith sighs, clearly not getting what he means; still, he burrows himself further into Shiro's chest.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters rather mutinously. Despite the teasing nature of it, it's enough to send Shiro's heart aflutter. He has to blink rapidly to dispel the sudden sting in his eyes, the swell of emotions rising in him. And Keith just lays over him, so oblivious to the effect he has. He can't let that lie.

“I love you too,” he says, quiet and sincere, and Keith stiffens, startled by the sudden serious turn. Tucking Keith in tighter against himself, Shiro persists, caught by a feverish need to lay out his truths. "I don't think you get just how important you are to me, how much happiness you’ve brought to my life. So I just wanted you to know that . . . I'm never leaving you, ever again. Not if I have any say in the matter, anyway. I promise you, I’ll always be fighting to be by your side. I swear it.”

Keith has gone completely still by the time he’s done, so much so that even his breathing has tapered off to a momentary pause. His face is still hidden where it’s pressed against Shiro’s shirt, but the slow-building tremble of his shoulders tells Shiro everything he needs to know. Keith lifts himself onto his elbows and Shiro catches a glimpse of glistening eyes and a wide smile crumbling under the weight of sheer wonder.

Then Keith is kissing him, and it’s clumsy and imperfect, wet with tears. He whispers shaky “I love you”s with every press of his lips, pushing closer like he’s afraid Shiro will vanish again. Shiro kisses him back, easing it into something soft and stable. He pulls his fingers loose from Keith’s hand to thread through his hair instead, stroking soothingly over the back of his skull.

They’re caught up in the affection, the trust that’s so implicit between them, and Shiro can feel himself fall that much deeper for Keith. Keith, who had long cut himself open on his love and carved out a space inside for Shiro to lay his heart in.

That’s just another thing he’d learned about Keith Kogane, what feels like years ago, back at the Garrison: under the prickly exterior and past all the barriers he’s built up, there’s this side to Keith, love and passion and all, that only a precious few have been allowed to see.

Shiro doesn't know what he did right to deserve that kind of faith, but every time he looks at Keith, he’s reminded starkly of the warmth and joy of home. And if Keith somehow finds that same comfort with him, well. . .

Like hell if Shiro is ever giving that up.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Shiro goes missing anyway, gOoD jOb ShIrO ;____;


End file.
